


Nuclear Winter Wonderland

by Amaranthfox



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-15 19:41:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13038042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amaranthfox/pseuds/Amaranthfox
Summary: Mr. House asks the Courier to decorate the Lucky 38 for Christmas, only problem is the Courier has no idea what Christmas is.





	Nuclear Winter Wonderland

I had been nearly a year since the NCR's 'completely voluntary tactical retreat' from Hover Dam, and the courier had settled quickly into her new life in Mr. House's employ. Now she spent her days on Strip investigating problems, solving problems and occasionally assassinating… 'problems.' Under Mr. House's guidance each New Vegas sunrise brought with it more gleaming neon and less savagery, and the courier quickly found herself becoming less of a mercenary and more of a secretary.

The elevator doors slid open, the courier entered the Lucy 38's penthouse, she winched at the bright golden morning light that flooded in from the immense windows. She approached the Mr. House's towering main screen, as she had done so many times before. His imposing ghostly image casting a soft green glow.

"Your Back, any news?" Mr. House asked.

"Big news, huge news!" The courier motioned her hands excitedly. "The Aces got brand new act. A comedian all the way from New Reno, from what I hear his routine pretty good but he's got nothing on Hadrian."

"Perhaps, I should rephrase my question, any important news?" Mr. House said with a disappointed sigh.

"Strips been pretty quite, except for the Gomorrah, their revenue is up 7% from last month."

"Smuggling contraband no doubt. One would think, if Omertas have the intelligence necessary to evade my security measures, they would also neglect to include any illicit transactions in their monthly financial statements. Its fortunate that forethought seems beyond them. I trust you took it upon yourself to investigate."

"Chems mostly, nothing too dangerous from what I saw. You should have seen their faces when I caught them red handed, said if I kept it quite I'd get 3% of the top,'here's 500 caps that the big man don't need to know about, and you never saw us,' I took the caps anyway, so you didn't hear it from me."

"…. Reassuring that your loyalty can't be purchased for such a meager sum. Had the Omertas known your salary they would have realized that offering 500 caps makes for a better insult, then it does a bribe."

"I know right? 500 caps? What do I look like, a Freeside junky?"

"You could certainly pass for one, should the need arise."

"...I walked right into that." She said bit her lip as she looked at her dirty tattered clothes with a new found embarrassment.

"You did indeed, but regardless, I'm impressed all the same."

"That's...kind of you to say, sir." The courier hesitated, eyeing the large screen suspiciously. A compliment from Mr. House? Your more likely to find a pack friendly of deathclaws in quarry junction.

"For doing you job? No, no, you misunderstand," Mr. House said, with his world famous brand of frigid sarcasm. "I'm impressed that you managed to arrive 17 minutes late for work this morning, that's quite an accompaniment, considering you take up residence in the presidential suite, which I remind you, is two floors down."

"That's...more what I was expecting." She grimaced at his blunt practicality. A solid year of faithful service had done little to soften his more astringent qualities. At times being Mr. House's employee was more nightmarish then her old life in the Mojave. The broiling sun, the constant danger, the smell of blood, at least she had the freedom to wake up at noon.

"Did you think I wouldn't notice? Tomorrow, I expect you to arrive on time, and consider doing so in proper business attire. I gave you a tie, I suggest you ware it."

"I know, I know, 'The apocalypse is no excuse to look unprofessional." The courier said in her best Mr. House impression.

"If you're quite finished?

"I've got more, but please continue."

"I need you to take the elevator to the basement, there you will find a wooden crate, I would like you to retrieve it. The package in question is fragile, at very least attempt to be careful."

"Got it, handle your package…. but be gentle." The courier said with a wink, as she entered the elevator.

"Perhaps, Victor should have left that grave in Goodsprings untouched after all."

"Hey now, if didn't know better I'd think you were talking about me." She said sarcastically.

"Good thing you know better." House said sarcastically back.

To this day Mr. House still struggled with the fact that the courier was his most competent employee. As much as he would love to find a replacement, the apocalypse had left Robco's human resources department somewhat…. Understaffed. Until a better option presented itself, she would have to suffice.

When the elevator doors opened she found herself in the Lucky 38's basement. A room she had only been to once before, right after she had delivering the platinum chip. It was just like she remembered it, dusty, dimly lit, and relatively empty with only a few it a forgotten computer banks along the walls. After a few moments had passed she returned to the penthouse, the courier placed the heavy wooden crate in front of the towering green monitor.

"Here's the box you asked for."

"…Well, why are you just standing there? It was a simple task, don't tell me you were you expecting a compliment? Finish your other assignments and then I might consider it."

The courier shrugged it off and got to work. She spent the rest of the afternoon the same way she spent most days, lit by the emerald glow of a commuter terminal. Typing and filing trade negotiations and caravan contracts, separating the Strip's endless rumors and gossip from the actual concerns. However unlike most days, she found herself distracted. Every few moments her eyes would stray from her terminal, and lingerer long on the mysterious wooden crate. That box, just sitting there, taunting her. Her heart raced when she imagined the treasures that could be contained within. Was it filled with Chems? Weapons? Dinky the dinosaur souvenirs? Rocket-ship parts? An upgrade for Mr. House's mainframe that would make him less of a stick in the mud? The possibilities seemed endless. And every second that passed, her curiosity intensified and the crate's mystique became stronger. But hours slipped by and the soft pinks of a Mojave sunset began to pour into the Lucky 38 penthouse, she came to the disappointing realization that the box's contents would forever remain a mystery, seeing as Mr. House had showed no interest in opening the crate and punishment doing so with out his permission would likely be painful or deadly… or both.

"There, finished," she said, placing a holodisk in one of Mr. House's main computer consoles,"organized in order of importance, as instructed. And if there's nothing else, I can do for you …." She trailed off, gradually making her way to the penthouse's elevator.

"If your work is done then your free to leave, in fact please do, your attempts at idle conversation this afternoon were partially insufferable."

"I bet you say that to all the girls." She said as the elevator doors began sliding open.

"Only the ones I find aggravating."

"I'll miss you too, Sir. Enjoy the rest of you evening, Mr. House." She said as she leaned on the back of the elevator, arms crossed, foot tapping, staring at flaking crimson wallpaper. But just elevator's doors began to clank shut she frantically bolted back into the penthouse.

"Back so soon? Marvelous." Mr. House said.

"Before I go, I have to ask, whats inside that box?" The courier asked.

"Your curiosity is understandable, but I assure you the contents of that crate would in all likelihood, not hold your interest."Mr. House said.

"Wouldn't hold my interest you say? Is one of our conversations inside that box?" The courier asked.

"Was that... an attempt at humor?"

"An attempt, yes."

"See that it doesn't happen again. Now if I recall correctly, you were just leaving."

"Alright, alright, I'm leaving, for real this time." She said, as pressed the call elevator button. The courier took last look at the box only to see the securitron Jane comically trying and failing repeatedly to open the crate with her boxy robot pincers.

"On second thought, this task clearly requires someone with more.….refined motor skills." Mr. house said, just as the elevator door were sliding open, "I could use your assistance briefly, if you are interested. You will be payed for your time, of course."

"Keep your caps, I just want to see whats inside that box." She said.

"How philanthropic," Mr. House said sarcastically,"very well then, when your ready open the box, and gently mind you, those items are irreplaceable. And one caveat before you begin, if you plan to abscond with any of the items contained within, let me save you the disappointment, as they will likely have little to no resale value."

"You calling me a thief? I mean...you ….are calling me a thief right?" She said insulted, but at the same time not entirely sure what the word "abscond" meant. Mr. House had a way about him, always managed to phrase his sentences so everything sounded like an insult.

"Certainly not, I'd wager looting the blood soaked possession of the recently deceased is more your forte, and therefor not 'stealing' by its technical definition."

"I see your in one of your moods. I know what will help, you want to hear a joke? Its funny I promise."

"Not particularly, but I doubt that will stop you."

"Too bad, I'm telling it anyway." She said as she struggled with both hands to pry the lid off the old wooden crate. "Its been a year and I think its about time I got a promotion. What do you say? You and me equal partners, splitting New Vegas' profits 50/50"

"Equal …. partners?" Mr. House asked, sarcastically intrigued. "Well done, that was by far, the most hilarious joke I've heard in over 200 years."

"Ya, I figured you'd get a kick out of that. Feel better?" She asked, yanking on the old wooden lid, with a sudden crack the nails holding the lid to the crate finally begin to loosen.

"Not that I wish to incentivize this type of employ / employer relationship, but yes, I did enjoy that."

"Alright this box of yours is open, now what?"

"Inside you will find many packages, find the largest one."

Her heart beat faster as she slowly removed the wooden lid. Once the lid was off she was surprised to find that the crate was filled with …. the same useless scrap she could find littering every corner of the Mojave, because of course it was, what else would it be? An endless fountain of Nuka? An unlimited supply of caps and stims? The courier didn't understand why Mr. House has been so insistent that she be careful, to her this crate looked like yet another collection of pre-war junk. Then again she didn't understand why he loved pre-war snow globes either, and she knew better then to ask. After the initial disappoint wore off, she did as instructed.

After locating the largest of the package, she delicately removed it from inside the crate. Now she was even more disappointed, it was just a box. Upon further inspection, she found that the box was largely blank except the words 'aluminum Christmas tree' printed on the side. She knew what aluminum was, and she knew what a tree was, but as for what a 'Christmas' was, that she didn't know. Once she opened the box, all her disappointed became confusion. Inside the plain box there was a tree? And fake tree at that, the nettles weren't green they made of paper thin glimmering silver strips, not like any tree she'd ever seen.

"Is this...a fake tree?" the courier paused, truly perplexed.

"That much should be obvious, the box was clearly labeled, presuming you're literate." Mr. House said with increased frustration.

"I don't understand, why would they make this? Why would you buy this?"

"Why would mankind kill each other over petty squabbles? After a certain point you stop asking why, and start calling it 'traditional."

"Are you going to dodge all my questions?"

"Don't let it bother you, it is my policy for everyone. But considering you only agreed to this assignment out of curiosity, I suppose there's no harm in indulging you. As for your question, the item in question was know as a Christmas tree. In better days, it was traditionally placed as a decorative centerpiece during the month of December."

"Were tree shrines like this common before the war?"

"During certain portions of the year, you would be hard pressed to find a home without one."

"But why a tree?"

"Cultural anthropology was not my area of expertise, but from what I understand many ancient civilizations believed that evergreen trees represented life withstanding a bitter winter, a fitting metaphor for humanity itself, given its recent ….set backs."

"Guess that makes as much sense… at least as much as its ever going to." The courier mumbled to herself as she reached inside the wooden crate for a second time.

She removed another nondescript box, its corners torn and faded with age. When she removed the lid of the small box her eyes lit up, mesmerized by the treasure she found within. Twelve mirrored globes, each the color a gemstone, like something straight out of a prewar magazine. These things, these wondrous things, left untouched for 200 years, just as beautiful as the day they had been lovingly packed away. She cautiously removed one of the spheres from its cardboard nest, She cradled the it in her pale hands, a ball of the richest crimson, delicate as an eggshell, smooth as glass. So small, so precious, in that moment she understood why Mr. House had told her to be careful.

"I've never seen anything like this before, what …. what are they?" She asked, presenting the globe up to the Mr. House's main screen.

"What do they look like?"

"Not sure, grenades maybe? But they seem hollow so that can't be right."

"They aren't weapons, though I imagination one such as yourself could find a way. Those are Christmas ornaments."

"What were they used for?"

"Ornamentation…obviously. Hang them on the tree, but do be cautious, finding a replacement would prove costly."

"These things..." She paused, taking great care to safely place the red ornament on the tree, "I can see why you saved them, they're beautiful."

"They are, aren't they, and to think, they could very well be only set still in existence."

She reached into the crate again to find yet another strange object it was a long and rope like, but it shined and glimmered in the light just like the tree. If it was in fact a rope it didn't seem to be very strong or functional.

"What do you want me to do with this... I don't know…. shiny rope?" She asked presenting the items to Mr. House's screen.

"This lack of professionalism is unbecoming, I insist that you call it by its proper name." Mr. house said in a disappointed tone.

"This thing has a name?" She said.

"…..Tinsel, its called tinsel. And honestly, must I be consulted on every minuscule detail of this endeavor?" He said.

"...so?"

"Yes, put it on the Christmas tree with everything else."

"Christmas, that word keeps coming up, what exactly is a Christmas?" She asked as she hung another ornament.

"I'm surprised you don't have at least rudimentary knowledge of its existence, but no matter, Christmas was a holiday, long before your time, it would seem."

"What was it like?"

"It is somewhat difficult to describe in words, but before the powers that be saw fit to blow their entire legacy into obscurity. Christmas was a yearly celebration. Trees were decorated and gifts were exchanged with loved ones, a tradition so beloved that not even the raging resource wars could discourage its practice."

"That sounds amazing."

"It had appeal, juvenile as it may be. Had an effect of people certainly, when you looked at a string of Christmas lights you could barely perceive the sound of military Vertibirds flying overhead. Charms that I must admit, even I found it difficult to resist. I knew the war was inevitable, every simulation I ran proved it was a mathematical certainty, but during those few short weeks in December, it almost seemed as if my calculations were wrong."

"What do you mean?"

"During Christmas it seemed as if, despite my calculations, there was hope, as if somehow there was a chance that the world might not tear itself apart, I would prefer to not discuss it any further."

The courier knew it must be torture for him to remember that time in his life, the moment he realized the world would end, and the years he kept that knowledge secret from everyone. The old world might be gone but that feeling of hope he felt, that was still there, as long as there were humans left of earth. Hope, that was the real reason he sacrificed everything to save Vegas.

"I'm sorry." The courier said. Mr. House had always claimed that he was no AI, claimed that he was human, but for first time she was starting to believe him.

"Whatever for?"

"For making you remember, but if you want to talk about it, I'm a pretty good listener."

"I believe that, I might like that."

That night Mr. House told her many stories about this odd pre-war festival, reluctantly at first but eventuality it seemed as if he was almost seemed like he was beginning to enjoy himself, almost. Her favorite story was the one about Santa Claus, a strange elderly man who break into homes in the dead of night, only to leave items rather then take them, strange indeed. He told her about how during Christmas the colors seemed brighter and complete strangers seemed like friends, and she was beginning to wonder if this 'holiday spirit' he kept mentioned was a just polite pre-war euphemism for a Mentats bender. She learned many things that day, and while she was still sketchy on the details, the courier finally felt like she was beginning to understand what exactly a 'Christmas' was. She knew talking about it would provide little comfort, but even so she hoped it would help. She only wished that she could have done it in person, but she didn't know where the real Mr. House was, however she knew someone who did and with that revelation, she had an idea.

"Jane, can I speak to you for a moment…. privately?"

"Why of course sugar." Jane said, her tone matching the perpetual smile on her securitron face monitor.

The courier leaned in close, and whispered something to Jane's microphone receiver.

"I don't know sugar," Jane said with hesitation, "that's a restricted area, Mr. House was pretty clear about that. He doesn't want to let just anybod-"

The courier whispered to Jane again.

"Well… I suppose. If your sure?" Jane said.

"Yes, I'm sure." The courier said.

Jane rolled past the Mr. House's main monitor, and the courier followed closely until they reached the stairs, but behind the stairs sat a dusty forgotten computer terminal. The one computer terminal in the entirety of the lucky 38 that she was not allowed to touch.

"There you go sugar, doors unlocked, say hello to Mr. House for me." Jane said.

"Jane what do you think you're doing?" Mr. House sternly reprimanded. "And as for you, courier, I have told you many times, that is a restricted area."

The courier ignored his warning and entered the hidden room, a room that hadn't been entered by anyone for 200 years.

"I- I don't want to kill you, but I will." Mr. House hesitantly threatened over the casino loud speakers, but with considerably less confidence in his voice, somehow even his frightened death threats came across as rigid and formal.

She continued, until she reached a set of doors. The motor creaked and sputtered but eventually the doors began to open, flakes of paint from the lucky 38 logo chipping off as it slide. She peeked inside the control room, to find a dark solitary walkway lit only by hazy white glow House's stasis chamber.

"You have a good reason for trespassing, I trust. Given your previous track record, I'm willing to look past this…. indiscretion, provided you leave now."

"Relax, I'm no going hurt you." She said, calmly making her way ever closer to his glowing stasis chamber. A hollow clanking echoed her every step down the walkway.

"That remains to be seen." His famed calculating tone had returned, "Statistically, there is less then a 3% chance your here to kill me, however I find its best to err on the side of caution, leave immediately or I will be forced to have one of my Securitrons escort your lifeless body from the premise."

That one gave her pause, shook her confidence a bit, but she was on a mission, in too deep, couldn't stop now. Continuing past his increasing menacing threats until she reached it, the end of the walkway. That stasis chamber he put himself it, looked like a coffin. After wiping two centuries of dust off the rounded glass lid and looking through the filthy glass She saw him, the great Mr. House, the real Mr. House. A hollow face, sparse wisps of white beard. Glassy milky eyes, jaundiced pupils. The undisputed ruler of New Vegas, little more then an emaciated husk, a tormented soul writhing inside an ungodly cage of wires and glass. So he really was human after all, she wasn't sure what she had expected but this wasn't it.

"I've got to hand it to you, you don't look a day over 200, but you don't look anything like your picture, I hardly recognized you," she said with a smile, desperately trying to lighten the mood, "…probably just the beard."

"You break my foremost rule and invaded my privacy, for this?" Mr. houses said, with characteristic dignified rage. His withered face finding the strength to form a bitter scowl. Even after she and seen him, the real him, he still chose to speak telepathically thorough the casino speakers. "Well? Are you here to kill me or did you come all this way just to gawk at an old man?"

"Neither, and you shouldn't worry to much, it gives you gray hair.… more gray hair, I guess."

"Worrying is my business. Its why I'm alive, and all my contemporaries are putrefying in a mass grave. Now I'll ask politely one final time, why are you here?"

"Not a fan of surprises, that's fair I suppose. Very well, I only came in here because I wanted to put your decorations where you could see them."

"You do realize I have cameras covering every square inch of this building? Believe me when I say, you could toss them down the Luck 38's elevator shaft and I could still see them."

"I wanted you to see them, with your eyes."

The courier placed a string of Christmas lights around the large glass viewing window. To his glassy eyes the bulbs appeared as little more vivid auras of pigmented light. And while he couldn't clearly make out the shape of the bulbs, the colors, those he could see. Magnificent hues, that for 200 years he could only see in his memories, in his dreams. Greens, reds, yellows, oranges, blues, each more beautiful then he remembered.

"I … appreciate the sentiment, a valiant effort, truly. But if your finished, it would be wise of you to leave immediately and pretend that you never saw this room."

"Consider it forgotten, but before I go," she said as she leaned in close, the tense silence was replaced with high pitched squeaking as she wiped a patch of glass back to its pristine pre-war glory, she made eye contact through the glass, "I just have one more question."

"Well, by all means, don't keep me in suspense," Mr. House said with a sarcastic enthusiasm, "ask your question."

"You told me that during Christmas it was customary to give gifts to loved ones, correct?" She asked, fishing her pockets for small item.  
"Yes, what of it?" Mr. House said trying to contain his frustration.

"So, I've been thinking….-" she paused, taking a scuffed lipstick tube from her left pocket and leisurely gliding the crimson pigment across her lips.

"A dangerous occupation."

"-What gift could I possibly give you? An expired bottle of Quantum? A rusted can of Cram? That won't do, not for a discerning man such as yourself." She knelt down, inches from the glass, her blurred pale face appeared out of the inky blackness, softly lit by vibrant jewel tones of Christmas lights.

"Wh-What are you doing?" Mr. House said, somewhat puzzled and still afraid that this was all just a drawn out, particularly elaborate assassination attempt.

"Giving you a gift." She said, illuminated by a spectrum of a bleary of lights. The courier kissed the frigid glass, leaving a scarlet print of her flirtatious smirk left on the window. She placed her warm hand on the cool glass, and to both their surprise Mr. House did the same, raising a weak trembling hand to hers separated by a frail window. His skeletal fingertips could feel the warmth from the courier's hand softly piercing the thin glass window pane, like trying to touch the moon, from the blackest depths of the sea. He was almost ashamed by the amount of comfort he took from such a simple thing, and it was in that moment that Mr. House realized this wasn't an assassination attempt. She wasn't there to kill him, quite the opposite. And Just like that it was over, as quickly as it had begin. The courier took her hand from the glass and got to her feet and headed for the door, but before she left she looked back on final time.

"I'll see you next year, Merry Christmas, Mr. House."


End file.
